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JollyDoc's Serpent's Skull-updated 11/6/2011
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<blockquote data-quote="JollyDoc" data-source="post: 5617085" data-attributes="member: 9546"><p><strong>Gorak</strong></p><p></p><p>Gorak was a simple half-orc. He liked the smell of the sea in the morning, the sight of the sky when the sun went down and the glow of the water when the moon came up at night. He was not what you would call bright, but he was strong. He came from a long line of strong orc blood. His grandfather Torak had been a mighty warrior, strong of heart and noble in spirit. He led a small tribe of orcs in the stolen lands. They kept to themselves, and lived by the motto of life: kill or be killed. They defended themselves, they hunted, and they did not kill for pleasure, yet they showed no mercy. Korak, son of Torak, was also a hero of the people. He began trade with the local towns, hired merchants, and traded pelts and services for gold, weapons and armor. </p><p></p><p>The small community was prospering despite the open warfare that raged throughout the Stolen Lands, and Gorak had completed his rites of passage. He was fierce in combat and could show phenomenal strength and skill by entering the Blood Rage. It was a sweltering day when his world ended, and the tribe’s shaman was on edge. He had been muttering to himself for days, “The Bones. The Bones!”</p><p> The tribe had been dutiful with their blood sacrifices according through the years, and the last thirty seasons they had blessed with peace and prosperity. This year was different. The shaman read the bones of the virgin sacrifice as completeness with no more use for life. </p><p></p><p>That day, two strangers entered the village along with twenty heavily armed troops. One of their number, a half-orc of all things, walked forward and cast his icy gaze at the village tribesmen who were gathering their weapons at the sudden appearance of the invaders. </p><p>"They are all evil, Velox,” he pronounced, “even the women and children. I say kill them all. They’re beyond redemption.”</p><p> The leader nodded his agreement and stepped forward. His eyes glazed over and he began speaking in an unknown but beautiful-sounding tongue. Then the killing began.</p><p></p><p>Gorak awoke hours later. He had fallen early in the battle, and one of the other hunters had apparently pulled him to safety, bandaged his wounds and lashed him onto a horse. It took him many days to gather enough strength to walk. He returned his village, only to find everyone gone, or slaughtered. A massive funeral pyre still burned. He followed the tracks of the soldiers to a local fort, where he learned that their leaders were an inquisitor and an oracle, the rulers of the area. Gorak vowed his revenge but he knew he was too weak and inexperienced to succeed in anything but dying again. He decided to head south and bide his time. His travels ultimately led him to the Shackles, a place far enough away to avoid the killers of his people.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="JollyDoc, post: 5617085, member: 9546"] [b]Gorak[/b] Gorak was a simple half-orc. He liked the smell of the sea in the morning, the sight of the sky when the sun went down and the glow of the water when the moon came up at night. He was not what you would call bright, but he was strong. He came from a long line of strong orc blood. His grandfather Torak had been a mighty warrior, strong of heart and noble in spirit. He led a small tribe of orcs in the stolen lands. They kept to themselves, and lived by the motto of life: kill or be killed. They defended themselves, they hunted, and they did not kill for pleasure, yet they showed no mercy. Korak, son of Torak, was also a hero of the people. He began trade with the local towns, hired merchants, and traded pelts and services for gold, weapons and armor. The small community was prospering despite the open warfare that raged throughout the Stolen Lands, and Gorak had completed his rites of passage. He was fierce in combat and could show phenomenal strength and skill by entering the Blood Rage. It was a sweltering day when his world ended, and the tribe’s shaman was on edge. He had been muttering to himself for days, “The Bones. The Bones!” The tribe had been dutiful with their blood sacrifices according through the years, and the last thirty seasons they had blessed with peace and prosperity. This year was different. The shaman read the bones of the virgin sacrifice as completeness with no more use for life. That day, two strangers entered the village along with twenty heavily armed troops. One of their number, a half-orc of all things, walked forward and cast his icy gaze at the village tribesmen who were gathering their weapons at the sudden appearance of the invaders. "They are all evil, Velox,” he pronounced, “even the women and children. I say kill them all. They’re beyond redemption.” The leader nodded his agreement and stepped forward. His eyes glazed over and he began speaking in an unknown but beautiful-sounding tongue. Then the killing began. Gorak awoke hours later. He had fallen early in the battle, and one of the other hunters had apparently pulled him to safety, bandaged his wounds and lashed him onto a horse. It took him many days to gather enough strength to walk. He returned his village, only to find everyone gone, or slaughtered. A massive funeral pyre still burned. He followed the tracks of the soldiers to a local fort, where he learned that their leaders were an inquisitor and an oracle, the rulers of the area. Gorak vowed his revenge but he knew he was too weak and inexperienced to succeed in anything but dying again. He decided to head south and bide his time. His travels ultimately led him to the Shackles, a place far enough away to avoid the killers of his people. [/QUOTE]
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